


A Mechanic Sings, Flowers Speak, and Trauma Clings

by ghostly_words



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Coreopsis has PTSD, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, also they were gaslit badly by an old 6 crew fireteam, i don't have a stutter but i did try my best, just a little look into their psyche, they also have speech difficulties including a stutter and taking pauses between words, they are very sad and i love them, they use they/them pronouns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:49:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28881255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostly_words/pseuds/ghostly_words
Summary: Coreopsis, a Hunter Guardian now a Tower mechanic in the hanger, works on a sparrow as they try to get used to their voice via singing after being torn apart by the Hive in the Hellmouth repeatedly.
Relationships: Coreopsis & Snowdrop, Ghost & Guardian (Destiny)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	A Mechanic Sings, Flowers Speak, and Trauma Clings

**Author's Note:**

> The song used in this fic is The Chemical Workers song by Great Big Sea, here's a couple links for anyone interested in listening to the whole song.  
> Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/album/36e6O3LpmAaRBC05Aj0PS6?highlight=spotify:track:1wf9F3L1B11i9WTfvwnfMo  
> Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GzcGOgxDoEk

“And it’s go boys do  
They’ll time your every breath  
And every day you’re in this place  
You’re two days nearer death”

A voice sung faintly, the words coming out smoother than anything they had managed since coming back.

“But you go…..”

The note was held, the sound of a drill breaking through the quiet melody as four screws clattered onto a steel plate. Paneling was gently lifted and set to the side on a clean towel, oil stained fingers handling the metal with a gentleness one might find odd for such rough edges.

“Well a Process Man am I and I’m telling you no lie  
I work and breathe among the fumes that trail across the sky  
There’s thunder all around me and there’s poison in the air  
There’s a lousy smell that smacks of hell and dust all in me hair”

Their high melodic voice had turned lower, rougher after the hours of screaming and fighting. Even while they sang, occasionally their voice hitched, unused to speaking for so long at such a low tone. Deftly working, they took apart the damaged sparrow with a care that most didn’t understand. After all, sparrows could be re-summoned, without the damage staying. 

But Coreopsis had learned, the damage always stayed. No matter how hard they scrubbed their pale skin raw, the feeling of claws tearing, of flesh being eaten, blood boiling, lingered like a shroud.

Leaning back, they gently set down their drill, the metal hardly making any noise against the workbench, before flexing their hands. Rubbing her thumb against their palm, the tension in their hands slowly loosened.

“And it’s go boys do  
They’ll time your every breath  
And every day you’re in this place  
You’re two days nearer death  
But you go….”

Rubbing their back as they breathed deeply, the press of their spine against skin felt unnatural now, whereas before it never passed their mind. How fragile they are, with perhaps the exception of exos, had become a permanent thought in their mind. What could be done to make armor better? What could be done to make their comms better, or their guns? Had they grown complacent, believing that death no longer could leave a permanent sting?

“Well I’ve worked among the spinners and I breathe the oily smoke  
I’ve shoveled up the gypsum and it nigh on makes you choke  
I’ve stood knee deep in cyanide, got sick with a caustic burn  
Been workin’ rough, I’ve seen enough to make your stomach turn”

Enough to make one's stomach turn. That was an accurate representation of the Hellmouth. The swarms of Hive, they way they screeched their language at a enough pitch to make their ears bleed, while some spoke in ways that made their mind ache. The sounds of thralls eating their flesh echoed in their ears in the dead of night when the terrors ripped away from any hope of a peaceful sleep.

“And it’s go boys do  
They’ll time your every breath  
And every day you’re in this place  
You’re two days nearer death  
But you go….”

Wire cutters fit into their hands perfectly. With an ease nearly unnatural to them, they clipped and rewired the inside of the sparrow with quick, sure movements. Their voice echoed off the sparrow, sounding too loud to their ears, until they leaned back to pick up the metal plating once more. Part of them wanted to stop, the echo of their voice making them flinch at times. But Snowdrop had suggested they sing while working to get used to the sound of their voice again, and Coreopsis couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing their Ghost. They could even hear Snowdrop humming along with them as encouragement.

“There's overtime and opportunities galore  
The young men like their money and they all come back for more  
But soon your knockin’ on and you look older than you should  
For every bob made on the job, you pay with flesh and blood”

The whirl of the drill broke through the last note. The drill was held steady in their hands. It looked like a gun. The drill went too far, scratching the sparrow with a loud crunch that nearly made them drop it. Quickly putting the drill on the bottom shelf and out of sight, they sighed with sorrow, lightly running their fingers over the scratches left behind. They could only think of an apology as they pulled out their buffing and polishing toolkit.

“And it’s go boys go  
They’ll time your every breath  
And every day you’re in this place  
You’re two days nearer death  
But you go…”

Buffing the scratches out in small methodical circles, Coreopsis breathed deeply, steadying themself as best as they could. From the corner of their eye they saw two hanger workers look at them with unreadable expressions. It made their skin crawl. It made them want to hide. The sudden pale blue eye in their field of vision lessened the urge, their Ghost now hovering to block out the strangers while commenting on how she luckily had the shader for the sparrow already. Coreopsis could feel the urge to hide lurking, festering under their skin, but they smiled softly at Snowdrop instead. A nod in thanks, for the shader and for stopping them, and they returned to the sparrow, buffing out the scratches in record time to a perfect smoothness. The polish was swiftly applied afterwards. The faster they got the sparrow done, the faster they could take a break.

“Well a Process Man am I and I’m tellin’ you no lie  
I work and breathe among the fumes that trail across the sky  
There’s thunder all around and there’s poison in the air  
There’s a lousy smell that smacks of hell and dust all in me hair”

Holding the shader under their lamp, the warmth brought back the memory of a Golden Gun, of blinding light and burning solar energy. The same energy, though dimmed now, burned within their chest, shooting through their veins, collapsing like gold with their blood. They burned, and they felt calm. Applying the shader carefully, the seam between the old and the new was impossible to see to anyone, except for their eye, and perhaps that of Amanda’s. They didn’t fear Amanda’s words strangely enough, but the woman had always been kind to them since she heard about why they changed jobs.

Clocking the exact time they finished the sparrow in the data pad on their left, they waited for the Warlock to come by. The trade off went quickly, a polite nod from each, a transference of glimmer, and the pleased comments from the Warlock that made them smile to hear, and Coreopsis quickly logged in a break once the Warlock left, happy with the work done on her sparrow. Sitting on their stool for a moment, they stared at their prosthetic, the flowers they had tattooed onto it themselves.

“Beware your dark thoughts,” the begonia’s said. “And remember the blessing of your hands.” The cornflowers whispered. 

The bittersweet and the chamomiles chimed in together, “Pay attention to the truth, and remember that a little patience will see you through these days ahead of you.”

Coreopsis, bluebells, and coriander spoke next, “You do not have to always be cheerful as your name implies, but find something to be happy about each day, something to be constant about, and remember that the rumors do not say anything about your worth, your humility, only the blindness of others.”

The edelweiss, white and purple hyacinths, and the lotus flower were the last to speak. “It is all right to sorrow and mourn who you lost, what you lost, but remember that you were reborn in fire once, you can be reborn in it again, and remember those that are not blind, those who see you and listen.”

Breathing in deeply, they ran their right hand through their hair before finally standing. Looking to Snowdrop, they spoke softly, “I think….I might make a new pr..osthetic. I want some new flowers to add, something I can...swap out, when it seems f-fitting.” At the happy wiggle from their Ghost, they smiled, faint and hesitant, but a genuine smile, as they quickly and quietly disappeared from the Tower.


End file.
